The other day I mentioned to someone that I live near a jail. And they said, “Oh! Don’t you worry about criminals escaping?”
Nope, not really. It’s a minimum security jail. They break out to have lunch at Taco Bell, then go back. From what I know, it’s mostly blue collar criminal types in there. Not the really dangerous white collar types. No priests, I mean.
I think the Girl Scouts actually do a pretty good cookie business there every year. And there’s nothing like buying your annual Christmas tree from a convict.
And frankly, if there’s gay sex happening in there, it’s because they wanted it. I don’t think anyone is in there long enough to be forced into it.
The place is called Elmwood. That’s a wussy name for a jail. The name of jail should strike fear into the heart of a criminal. Attica, Riker’s Island, Alcatraz, Devil’s Island. Ok, maybe not Sing Sing. That sounds like a Broadway Musical with lots of stripy costumes.
Elmwood doesn’t even sound like a jail. It sounds like a retirement home. “Let’s just look at the brochures Mom… See? It’s got a lot of nice trees and nice men in orange jumpsuits to take care of you. Plus you can pump some iron in the gym after shuffleboard!”
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